


take it easy

by llma_0



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Found Family, Gen, Reader Insert, Sibling Fluff, Slice of Life, Tim Drake Needs a Break, Tim Drake is a Good Brother, and in case it isnt clearly enough implied, pseudo-sibling fluff, reader is one of bruce's many many wards, so do you, tim drake needs to stop stealing people's coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llma_0/pseuds/llma_0
Summary: It was only by a chance encounter (and by this you mean Tim being driven out of the manor by a particular gremlin child , seeking refuge in your small and blessedly quiet apartment) that you and Tim had established something of a regular routine between the two of you. Nowadays it isn't an unusual occurrence for Tim to show up unannounced, looking for a sip of coffee and a place to work his cases uninterrupted.Tonight he packs up his stuff a little earlier than he usually does, bidding you a goodnight and ruffling your hair on the way out, and you can’t help but pat yourself on the back for the soft smile that’s still on his face when he hops out your window and into the night.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	take it easy

“Mmnggh,” you say. Or maybe that shouldn’t really count as speech. Intended as some kind of warning for the poor soul who just liberated your hand of the mug of coffee it had previously been clasping, _whatever_ it was just lost all coherence when it hit your voice box. Forcefully recollecting your mastery of the English lexicon, you try again. “…shit ton of sugar, tastes like shit.”

You don’t know why you'd even try to forewarn the idiot, seeing as he _did_ just steal your drink, but then again, if you really cared so much you’d probably do something to thwart his acts of thievery as they occurred without fail every other night. Either way, your companion, now the most recent victim to your death mug, is realizing on his own that he probably should have heeded your warning, if the horrified gagging sounds are anything to go off of. 

“Jesus,” he wheezes out, followed by a strangled, “ _Why.”_

You sigh and straighten your back for what feels like the first time in a millennium, feeling your spine pop in a few places. Tim’s still hacking up a lung in the background, and you think that maybe six heaps of brown sugar _was_ a little overboard for a single mug of coffee.

The death juice was a given, for a studying night like this. The excess of sweetener, not so much. Somewhere between Economics and 21st Century Lit., though, you’d begun to feel a little woozy and decided that maybe a nap was for the best. “…but then I woke up and I felt, like, _floaty,_ ” you explain, watching your pseudo-sibling (fellow ward? what is this family) regain his bearings. “Almost like I’d hurled up my entire dinner and then tomorrow’s breakfast.”

“And so you decided that you wanted a cup of diabetes with coffee on the side?” You roll your eyes as Tim shudders dramatically. “You can definitely have _that_ back, too,” he mutters, returning your mug to its rightful corkboard coaster. “I mean I figured I just needed a little sugar in my system or somethin’,” you murmur, trailing off to fumble with the lock of your binder rings. It clicks open and you shuffle your notes so that they’re stacked by subject. “Though now I’m realizing that I might have fared better without the heart palpitations, so.”

Tim sets down his laptop on the opposite side of the kitchen island, and the light tapping of keys soon fills the silence. “You know,” he remarks after a minute, his steady rhythm not faltering. “I’m probably not the one who should be telling you this, but-” He looks up at you and says—with his whole chest, with his half -inch-from-death eyebags and _none_ of his spleen, says to you, “Don’t you think maybe you should take it a little easier?”

You raise your eyebrows exaggeratedly. You pause, a beat of silence before laughter bubbles up unbidden in your chest and you give the ugliest, most godawful snort that leaves your sleep deprived and overcaffeinated ass reeling with lightheadedness.

“Sorry,” you breathe out in between laughs, “Sorry, you’re right, I just--” you let your guffaws putter out into light chuckles, regaining your breath. “You _really_ aren’t the best person to tell me that,” you snicker.

Tim allows himself small laugh, shaking his head slightly. You take a long breath once you calm down, meeting his exasperated half-smile with a wide grin. “I think we _both_ need to take it down a notch, big bro,” you tell him earnestly. Your mind backtracks momentarily— _big bro?_ when did that happen?—but you do nothing to correct yourself. Though he rolls his eyes playfully in response, you only pretend not to notice how the corner of his mouth twitches upwards at the nickname.

You had been one of Bruce's more recent wards, and while there wasn't any bad blood or anything between you and his other children you'd had, for a very long time, a reasonably less-than-intimate relationship with most of them. Though you had warmed up to them over the years, it was only by a chance encounter (and by this you mean Tim being driven out of the manor by a particular gremlin child, seeking refuge in your small and blessedly quiet apartment) that you and Tim had established something of a regular routine between the two of you. Nowadays it isn't an unusual occurrence for Tim to show up unannounced, looking for a sip of coffee and a place to work his cases uninterrupted.

Tonight he packs up his stuff a little earlier than he usually does, bidding you a goodnight and ruffling your hair on the way out, and you can’t help but pat yourself on the back for the soft smile that’s still on his face when he hops out your window and into the night.


End file.
